


Avos

by colberry



Category: Alice Nine, the GazettE
Genre: Crushes, Fluff, Food as a Metaphor for Love, It's Not Stalking per say, M/M, Senpai Notice Me, Sponsored by KitKats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colberry/pseuds/colberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not an addiction.  Just an appreciative love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avos

Chocolate or strawberry?  
  
 _Lean to the right._  
  
Strawberry or chocolate?  
  
 _Sigh, rustle.  Lean to the left._  
  
Oh, but they had lemon too.  
  
Saga shifted once more to the right, intermittently standing on his tiptoes as if to peer further into the depths of the vending machine and discover a newfound treasure.  The rows of pocky merely stared back at him blankly, not offering any suggestions as to which flavor he should snatch up and covet for all of five seconds.  Saga growled low in his throat, cursing his own inability to make a decision and the lack of time he had to make one. 

Nao, who decided to march into practice today with a huff and a backbone, was nearly manic in his borderline obsession with the rhythm section today – never once relenting for a break, even when Saga’s C-string had snapped ( _“No wait, it’s an opportunity!  Now you can practice improvising!”_ ).  That is, until Tora nearly tore off a cymbal from the precious drum set in nicotine-deprivation.  And even Leader-sama couldn’t argue with that hazel-eyed glare and clenched fist. 

So he gave them two minutes.

And Saga literally ran out of the room with his bass still strapped to his chest.

Saga could feel a whine building in his throat, brow furrowing.  Two minutes was not _nearly_ enough time to make a wise selection at the vending machine.  He didn’t understand why Tora hadn’t harassed five more minutes out of the drummer…  How fast did the tall guitarist smoke?  Did he inhale them?

The bassist shook his head, trying to keep from getting distracted when a vital decision was about to be made.  He inhaled and slowly lifted his hand from where it had rested on the strings of his bass.  Hovering between the button for chocolate and lemon, he glared and was about to just punch a hole in the glass and grab everything in sight when a low, slightly amused voice declared from behind:

“Kit-Kats.  Always go with Kit-Kats.”

Stiffening and raising a brow, Saga slowly turned around with his finger still poised, and was surprised to see Reita standing off to the side.  A lighter was grasped in his left hand, evidently returning from a smoke break, and a streak of mirth was dancing in his chocolate eyes.  The GazettE were obviously rehearsing for their Tokyo Dome debut, the blonde bassist presented to the younger in full costume including that infamous noseband.  Inwardly wincing, Saga tried not to think about how he was completely underdressed and probably looking like a ragamuffin in comparison – ripped jeans, oversized plaid shirt, grey beanie and chunky, should’ve-thrown-these-out-two-months-ago black boots. 

The frazzled bassist tried to find words to say back, but Reita didn’t even wait for the other to reply.  He casually waltzed over like they had been chums for years and inserted 200 yen into the machine, pressed the button for Kit-Kats and retrieved it happily from the dispenser.  All the while Saga stood frozen, not sure what to do with his hands now that the elder was so close to him. 

Despite being in the same company and occasionally showing up for random bowling tournaments hosted by said company, Saga had never truly interacted with the bassist, nor the other members of the GazettE for that matter.  Their practice rooms were practically on opposite sides of the PSC building so even brief encounters in the hall were unheard of.  He couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated, even though the bassist’s aura felt perfectly light and sociable – they weren’t just ‘those-five-guys-who-headbang-like-their-spines-are-about-to-snap’.  They weren’t even the guys who you’d consider asking out to the bar and shoot the breeze over a warm beer (although, from the rumors, maybe Uruha-senpai wouldn’t be opposed to that…).  The GazettE were revered by their kohai; the ultimate aspiration, the goal, the dream.  Almost untouchable despite their pleasantly quirky personalities. 

Therefore, _Reita_ wasn’t just a fellow bassist who could come up with decent riffs and scribble down a note or two.  This was a man who had made it to Budokan when Saga was still working on Alice Nine’s first full-length album, who _opened_ their tour at Budokan this past summer, who flung his bass in the air and _caught it_.  And who was Saga?  Some pervert who slobbered all over his instruments?  Saga blushed, shifting again, and felt his nerves start a lovely tango in his chest.

Should he say something?  Make a joke?  Saga darted his eyes side to side, trying to think of that one-liner Hiroto had told him in a fit of giggles yesterday, but all he could come up with were dirty anecdotes.  Shit, this was his senpai!  His well-respected, totally-cool, completely-ravishable sempai!  (Saga pretended that last one didn’t eagerly spring forward).  He needed to make a good impression and those inappropriate limericks he found online the other day weren’t going to impress _anybody_ – well, maybe Hiroto. 

Ignoring Saga’s mini-aneurysm taking place three inches away from him (perhaps too used to the own insanity his band spewed forth daily, including Ruki’s occasional diva-meltdowns over ink smudges), Reita faced the younger bassist amiably and held out the Kit-Kat to him, “Here, you won’t regret it.”

Thoroughly cut-off from his internal woe, Saga blinked and gazed at Reita’s warm smile, then to the proffered candy.  A little dumbfounded and not quite sure what just happened, he began to reach for it but then stopped, shaking his head vigorously with wide eyes, “No man, I can’t let you just pay for me like that – it’s okay, I’ll get my own – ”

Reita’s smile grew and Saga absently noted how a faint, barely-there dimple made itself known on his right cheek; how the elder’s mouth was almost _made_ to grin and laugh.  The blonde-haired man shook his head and proceeded to reach down and grab Saga’s hand.  The younger inhaled sharply, feeling the warmth of a hand, one that had calluses in the same places he did, wrap around the back of his palm. 

With a gentle squeeze, Reita placed the candy into Saga’s awaiting fingers, “Consider it a ‘congratulations’ from one bassist to another.”

The brunet stared at the Kit-Kat in his hand, trying to deny how he somehow missed the warmth of Reita’s palm against his own, and felt his mind draw a blank.  He missed the friendly wave the elder bassist sent his way as he walked down the long corridor towards the practice room, and the quiet chuckle that followed thereafter.

Saga finally blinked, snapping out of his thoughts and whipped his head up to thank his senpai and send his own congratulations for the elder making it to the Dome, but realized with a disheartened pang in his ribs that the other was already gone.  Saga sighed, fingers fiddling with the orange wrapper of the candy.  He couldn’t just _leave_ it like this – he had to wish Reita that same luck.  Wondering if he had enough time to jog down the hallway and catch up with the man, Saga glanced at his watch.

He was late.  Ten minutes late.

_Shit._

_ … _

  
“Ah, air!”

Reita flung his arms above his head and stretched, tired grin almost breaking his face in half.  Uruha, equally relieved and exhausted, walked out of the practice room alongside the bassist with a slump of his shoulders.  He was sure his fingers were all split open by the time Kai had finally decided to end rehearsal with a tired sigh.  Aoi had immediately lit up a cigarette while Ruki practically shoved the mic back into its place with a _“about-fucking-time”_.  Kai had politely ignored the venomous glare shot his way. 

The guitarist rubbed at his shoulder, “Well, at least you had _two_ breaks.  I was stuck with Ruki sticking his nose into the sheet music and yapping at me and Aoi to tweak all kinds of shit.”

Dropping his arms back to his sides, Reita sighed and turned to his friend with a disappointed scowl, “You could’ve told him off; you know how anal he gets before a big live.  And anyways, after I ran into Saga-san, I went back to the vending machine later and _all_ the Kit-Kats were sold out!  So really, I only had _one_ break.”

Uruha glanced at him with wide eyes, “ _All_ of them?”  Seeing Reita’s defeated expression, he snorted, “Like there’s anyone who’s more of a Kit-Kat addict than you.”

The bassist was about to reply that it wasn’t an _addiction_ , just an _appreciative love_ , when he spotted a flash of bright color sitting next to his motorcycle helmet he had left outside the practice room.  He stopped in his tracks, Uruha grunting as he bumped into him.  
  
"...What--?"  
  
A perfect pyramid of Kit-Kats.

Reita gaped.  He continued to gawk with elation even as Uruha murmured, _"But why would anyone...?"_     
  
He could feel his hands twitch, body about to pounce on the pile without question, when a rushed movement caught his eye.  
  
There.  Scurrying behind a wall.    
  
A pair of chunky, black boots.


End file.
